


Submit

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The memory of cords on her wrists is too sweet to deny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Submit

Petyr pulls back, teeth grazing her lips as he does so. It’s just enough for Barbrey to catch her breath , something much needed. Her face is flushed and the warmth is spreading down her chest, the remnants of the wine mixed with the press of their bodies doing away with any need for a fire.

Petyr remains apart for a heartbeat longer than necessary, looking at her with glassy, yet intense, eyes. She would never claim that she loved this man, or that she saw this coupling lasting long, but in moments like this she almost regrets the inevitably bitter end. He looks at her with want and need, and she is certainly vain enough to admit that she finds it attractive.

His gaze, now, causes her to shiver, but the longer he goes without speaking the more irritated she grows. She doesn't like having these sorts of contemplative silences with him; she knows she risks revealing too much.

“What is it?” she asks, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice.

Petyr casts his eyes down and Barbrey is reminded, not for the first time, of how fragile he is despite it all. The idea always made her smirk, cruelly.

“What you were speaking of earlier,” he starts, one careful hand caught in the sheets. “About what you would let him do to you.”

There was no need to ask who _him_ was; it was a name that Petyr couldn’t ever bring himself to speak when they were abed, as if voicing it would cause everything he gained to come crashing down on him. Barbrey always found this more than a bit tiresome, but she always permitted this.

She catches his meaning quick enough, and allows the smirk that had been lingering at the edges of her lips to fully form. Petyr, to her pleasure, mirrors it.

She knows well enough what he speaks of and the thought—the memory—is more than pleasing to her. She’s suddenly very glad for these closed rooms, for the feel of his body pushed against hers.

“Oh?” she responds, her voice lighter than before. The memory of the cords on her wrists—so fresh, even with the passage of years and onslaught of disappointment—is exquisitely exciting, more so than it had been hours before when she had confessed it to him in a drunken state. She grips his hand and pulls him back down on top of her, sharply sighing when he works deft fingers between her legs.

“What makes you think I would allow that of you?” she asks as he bites at her neck. She knows she shouldn’t, that this should be something left in the past, that she could never again give herself in that way. But the memory of the restraint, the delicious tease is far too sweet, far too tempting.

Neither of them would ever have to speak of it again.

“You would like that wouldn’t you?” She means to go on, but his lips close around her breast and her words leave her with the arch of her back.

He takes her wrists in hand and pins them above her, against the pillow. His grip is surprisingly intense and the slight mew that leaves her lips at the feel of it is not entirely for show.

Petyr meets her eyes again and even in the dark she can see the tinge of mischief there, the pure lust. She wraps a leg around his back, pushing him against her, relishing the physicality of the act. Her heart is beating in her chest when she offers her submission.

She’ll hate herself in the morning, she knows. She’ll meet him to break their fast and neither of them will acknowledge anything that passed between them hours before. She’ll watch his bastard daughter and wonder, as she does every morning, how much of her weakness he shares with the girl.

But before all that, she’ll lie in bed and wait for the dawn and examine the red marks on her wrists with gratification.


End file.
